


Second Kiss: the Authoress Blanking On a Title

by shiju333



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Frottage, PWP, Smut, eleventy kink meme, my first ever het smut!, quasi lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiju333/pseuds/shiju333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[I found the thread on eleventy-kink!] "River grinding against Eleven like she did in Let's Kill Hitler, making him come in his pants. Eleven, of course, is super awkward and doesn't know what to do."</p><p>Link: http://eleventy-kink.livejournal.com/942.html?thread=2472366#t2472366</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Kiss: the Authoress Blanking On a Title

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's more frottage than a lap dance because it's hotter. ;) And younger!Eleven with experienced!River because I love their dynamic. This is set after "Day of the Moon".

He’s trapped. Well, sort of. River leans in to kiss, which he readily accepts. This time his arms don’t flail about by their own accord, and he prides himself on overcoming last experience’s awkwardness. This is their second kiss, and he’s finding it much more enjoyable than their first since he’s actually involved: pressing back against her, gasping as she parts her lips and the sudden rush of warm heat as River slips her tongue into his mouth.

He groans, hips rolling against her as she deepens the kiss. They break away, gasping, and he blinks back the dots obscuring his vision as he sucks in air. He tries and fails to toss a coy rejoinder, instead grinning like a twelve year old having his first wank.

Well, in this regeneration, it’s nearly that. Fingers dance across the front of his trousers, and he realizes River has been trying to get his attention. “Uh, yes?” he asks against the haze of pleasure obscuring his thoughts.

Her lips curve upwards, amusement glints in her eyes, but she repeats her question. “Jim the fish?”

He shakes his head and the fingers tickle his thigh. He resists the urge to buck into the touch. In this form, he hasn’t felt this… It’s been so long since…

“1969?” Her eyebrows crinkle together and the hand moves to stroke his face as a look of anguish passes over her features.

“Loved the happy ending,” he says in allusion to that kiss, the last time he’d seen River Song.

The smirk returns, and she huffs out a sigh. “Oh, that’s good.”

His trousers are tight and he shifts in them. If possible, her smirk deepens. “Obviously we haven’t done much before.” She leans into his again, lips connecting and her hand returning to his thighs, where she parts his legs.

Her crotch meets the bulge in his, and he moans into the kiss, and just like last time, her tongue invades his mouth. He attempts to return the favor, sparring tongues with River, but easily loses himself to the sensation of her pressed against him.

He’s glad she has him pinned to a wall as she grinds her hips up. Oh god, yes. A heat coils in his stomach and he’s so achingly hard, and this beautiful, mysterious woman is rubbing against him—and he can’t quite get enough of that friction.

His hands are diving into the wild blond tangle of curls as she snakes a hand down his thigh, kneading at the muscle. He sags further down against the wall, too busy gasping and sucking in whatever oxygen he can as… Their hips align in the most wonderful way as he slumps closer to her height.

She grinds against him, and his toes are curling in his shoes. He may as well be witnessing this galaxy’s sun burning out in another ten thousand years, his vision is blacking out. He doesn’t realize what’s happening, until it’s too late, and she’s working herself against him, an arousing maddening pantomime of fornication and that hand…her hand on his thigh, so close, so bloody—!

He tries to warn her, even as her hands grasp the front of his trousers, working at the buttons, but he can’t form the words between ragged breaths, and he pushes her away as a whine emanates from the back of his throat as he comes.

When he finds himself aware of his surroundings, he realizes he’s slumped against the wall, hands resting on his knees as his breathing regulates slowly. He feels the stickiness coating his pants and trickling slowly down his leg. A blush flames against his cheeks; he’s too mortified to realize River is staring at him gasping harshly against her own orgasm.

He doesn’t look at her as he mutters an apology.

There’s a long pause, in which he assumes River is too distraught by the events to respond. He hangs his head further.

Two hands cup his face, pulling him up so he’s still slouched, but eye level with River. She’s smiling gently. “Whatever for, sweetie?”

He can’t respond as he feels cum squelching in his pants; he feels low, a disgusting pervert. Instead, he widens his eyes until understanding flashes across her face. Her eyes glint like the steel of her bullets, and he prepares for her worst.

River plants a quick kiss on his lips, still staring into his eyes. “Chauvinist,” she accuses with a twinge of laughter in her voice. “You’re not the only one who enjoyed that.” She directs his eyes to the front of her dress, where, just visible to the eye, was a small patch of dampness.

Now, looking, really looking he takes in her dilated pupils and flushed cheeks, notes the hitches in her breathing, and he cracks a small smile. “That,” he offers, “that was good. Really good”

“Yes, it was.”  She beams at him. “The best!”


End file.
